


Tough

by shittershutter



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You gotta pick ‘em tough. It’s another pillar Chibs’ survival philosophy is built on."</p><p>It's mostly porn and emotional struggle, my favourite combination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it some time ago to deal with all the pain this show has brought into my life. It didn’t really help, but there you go. Also, it’s unbetad. I’m still out of practice and deeply embarrassed of my language skills.

They keep the lights off purely out of habit. TV is on mute; its cold trembling light moves across the room, hitting Juice’s naked body and shimmering across it. 

Juice’s skin has a warm shade of caramelized sugar to it, Chibs notes distractedly. It makes him think of home, bringing childhood memories to the surface, as inappropriate as they are at the moment. 

Chibs takes another generous gulp of whiskey, killing time the only way he knows how. The cloud of smoke from his cigarette looks like a tiny Chinese dragon to him, and it can’t be a good sign. He chases the dragon away with his fingers, watching it dissolve into a thin dusty air. 

They are chasing two minor drug dealers out of Charming. It’s a slow day, what can you do. What starts as a smooth hounds and foxes game across the highway and a few neighboring towns, turns into road bumps and shotgun fire. Things tend to get boring and predictable after the first shot is fired. In Chibs’ experience, at least. Two scrawny asses they are after turn into two perfectly compact bodies for disposal. 

Jax volunteers to do the nasty work, and Opie follows him like a shadow, no questions asked. It leaves Chibs and Juice to tend to the bikes and project the hell out of innocence. 

“Get us a room,” Jax throws over the shoulder. “We’re spending the night here.” So Chibs knows it’s going to be one of those nights. And it is. 

Jax and Opie show up long after midnight. With adrenaline still coming off them in waves they shuffle around the room, and Chibs has to catch them one by one to look them over. He slides his fingers over the skin, looking for the open wounds under the blood and the dirt. 

“Probably shouldn’t have fired at them with everything I’ve got,” Jax shrugs, picking at the blood stain on his hoodie. 

Opie throws his bag onto the bed next to Juice. The man is still lying there, amidst the mess of pillows and clothes, naked and sweaty with his thighs thrown apart. Chibs feels so goddamn proud, because yeah, he did that. Made the boy wail like a banshee. The marks of the boy’s teeth and nails burn on him to prove it. Juice’s leg is still trembling a little, and it’s the hottest thing. 

Juice chuckles and kicks, aiming for Opie’s leg. His uncoordinated hand is caught mid-air -- Opie blocks it without even looking. He then follows Jax into the bathroom. The door remains unlocked but closed tight -- a boundary for Chibs to acknowledge. 

Chibs acknowledges Jax and Opie long before they do so themselves. That’s the trick behind his longevity inside the world where the delicate balance between the good, the bad and the ugly is challenged on a daily basis. The trick is to close your mouth, make one step back out of the line of sight and listen. And look. 

He probably sees it because he knows what to look for. 

In another life, decades ago Filip has a boy in Belfast he makes love to. Beautiful and fragile thing he is, vulnerable as a piece of paper, with his life, hopes and dreams so easy to crumble with one harsh squeeze. Filip is not Chibs yet, but his dark future is already looming above. Even then, at 17 he is very aware of its presence. What they have with that boy cannot last. And it does not. 

Many years pass, and one night in the middle of a drunk orgy Chibs looks across the room, through the blur of naked bodies, thick leather, and cheap lingerie. In Juice’s eyes on the other end he sees the shadow of that Belfast boy, the softness and the pain he recognizes and responds to so strongly, but in a better, tougher shell. Or so it seems at that moment.

You gotta pick ‘em tough. It’s another pillar Chibs’ survival philosophy is built on. For each Gemma or even Fiona, there are tens of them who are drawn close to fire, those who burn.

When Jax, still a troubled teenager, walks past Opie to his car and traces Opie’s wrist with the very tip of his little finger -- a gesture so tiny and quick that even Gemma remains oblivious -- Chibs is the one who notices. Or maybe Gemma looks the other way when Opie is considered, mindful of all the accents that make her son whole. 

Hundreds of whores and a few wives and kids after they remain the same, reaching for each other, leaning into one another, gravitating close. Chibs knows what it’s like to keep something so dear to the heart tucked away from the surface to protect it from the ugly circumstances.

Speaking of which. He squishes his cigarette butt against the window frame and turns around to face the room. Juice is still there, on the bed, just where he left him. It’s a big bed -- they rent one room and hide their bikes to keep the low profile here. 

Juice’s eyes are as black as the starless night outside. A goofy smile is plastered across his face, bright and warm. Chibs looks down at him for the longest moment, feeling in his gut how his survival philosophy is cracking around the edges. 

“Watcha doin’ boy?”

“Just chillin’” Juice’s dopey smile spreads further, so do his legs. 

Chibs hums thoughtfully, unwrapping the towel around his waist, and accepts Juice’s silent invitation. He slides down and pushes his face between his legs without warning. 

He does not spare Juice any time to react, spreading his cheeks and exposing his swollen, well-fucked hole. He licks across it a few times, his tongue flat, then traces its puffy edges with the tip of his tongue and licks his way inside. It’s usually his final trump card to whip out, and they love it, girls and boys alike. Makes them scream, just like Chibs likes it.

Juice makes a strained sound and covers his flushing face with both hands, shame and arousal burning through him. 

Chibs just licks away the sweat, the salt of his skin and the leftover lube, completely unfazed. He moves along the boy’s perineum, ignoring his dick completely; he kisses and sucks and licks across the sensitive skin. Their heavy breathing, along with the offensive wet sound of Chibs’ tongue and lips fill the air around them. 

The bathroom door opens. Opie flops down the bed, his body still in a hot cloud of steam that smells of cheap soap and rusty water. He lies on his side and watches, making Juice groan and try to burrow himself further in all the pillows and the blankets. 

“Look at that, Ope. Just when you were getting blisters waving that shovel, Juicy boy here was getting his pussy eaten this whole time,” Jax chuckles.

Juice trembles with his whole body, his stomach muscles rigid. 

“Don’t break him before I’m done with him,” Chibs warns, his smirk hidden, but audible in his voice. 

“How did it go?” he asks Opie between the broad licks he attacks Juice’s crack with. His hole throbs under the touch; saliva drips down the mattress. He rests his head on Juice’s trembling hip, giving his numb mouth a minute break. 

“How do you think it went?” Jax answers instead, yanking Opie’s towel off.

“Clay may want to know what…”

“Oh yeah, I’d love to see you call Clay on this, brother,” Jax nodes at Opie’s dick in front of him, Chibs’ tongue up Juice’s ass is not mentioned, but heavily implied.

It’s his final coherent remark for now; he leans in and swallows Opie down. Which is a clever way to shoot the conversation down -- Chibs can give him props for that. 

Opie can give Jax props for an entirely different reason, however, as he reaches for the blonde strands of hair. His fingers move across the man’s brow; with his other hand he yanks the blanket away from Juice, exposing his red, sweaty face.

“Look at you, man. You’re so fucking hot.”

Juice lets out a long moan, and fuck it, it’s time to get on with it. Chibs grabs one of the condoms, scattered across the carpet, slips it on and slides inside Juice with one hard thrust. 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jax straddling Opie’s thighs, a foil package between his teeth. Opie’s hands, so big, with blood still under the nails, slide up his body, counting the ribs, rubbing his nipples. Those hands then go further up, grabbing Jax by the throat, and Jax lets out a surprised gasp. He turns his head when Opie’s grip allows it and kisses Opie’s wrist softly. 

Another rhythm joins one of Chibs’ hips. He looks at them as they move together -- Opie thrusts smoothly up and Jax meets him halfway, fingers digging into the bigger man’s shoulders. 

Jax lowers himself onto his elbows, pushing his fingers into Opie’s wet hair. He is saying something, his sentences broken by the brutality of the other man’s thrusts. Chibs does not try to listen this time -- he has no right to. He can feel the low rumble of Opie’s answering voice vibrating through his own bones. And when they kiss, softly, smiling through it, Chibs turns away -- he has no right to see it, as well. 

He looks down instead, where Juice is staring back at him without blinking, pushing himself up on his elbows. Their faces touch -- the tips of their noses, their foreheads, cheeks, and lips rub against each other. The glint in Juice’s eyes is the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing Chibs has ever seen. 

“You are not fucking tough, good god, you are weak, you are so weak…” he thinks with a sudden clarity and the deepest despair he felt in a long time. His hips break the rhythm and snap him out of it for now. He comes after a few fitful jerks. Through it he feels Juice rubbing his cock against his stomach, his body contracting around him, and he puts his hand between them. 

It takes a few deep breaths to remove the tremor from his voice. 

“Come on,” he says with that calm, icy tone that affects Juice’s thrashing soul so much. And when Juice comes, his hands are there to catch him. 

Chibs kisses his stomach, rubbing his lips across the mess he’s made and just flops atop of him, eyes tightly closed. 

One thought is circling his brain million miles an hour. “Oh my boy you are not made for this life, what am I going to do with you?”

Something cold touches his shoulder, bringing him back from this trance. Jax stands above them, handling Chibs a beer. Lube slides down his thighs, and he grins at Chibs, clinking his bottle against his own. The sound of rain and Opie’s snoring surrounds them till the early morning.


End file.
